


Little Talks

by redluna



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:41:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was suppose to be a place of beginnings. Not endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Talks

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration and title taken from Little Talks by Monsters and Men.

The house had been the very first thing that they had bought together. It was a great, hulking Victorian, the outside covered in a deep red shade of paint with white trim. It had had just the right amount of elegance to suit Arthur's tastes while being different enough to satisfy Eames' as well.

Eames could still remember how after everything had been lugged in they had settled down to celebrate right on the living room floor. The bottle of champagne had been a little warm and they had wound up drinking straight from the bottle since neither of them could be bothered to search for glasses amongst all the boxes. But it had been their brand of perfect, especially once the bottle was finished with and Arthur had pushed Eames down on the floor—flushed cheeks and all—to have his way with him.

It had been suppose to mark the start of new beginnings—a final retirement from dream share and the new life that they would share together.

It was never suppose to be an ending.

Eames was drawn from his thoughts by slender fingers—so very cold, despite the heaps of blankets—reaching out for him in the dark. The voice that followed after was thin and weak, far too much like a child's than the grown man it belonged it.

"Eames?"

Eames shot out to grab that hand, holding it steady in his own. He could feel it tremble in his grasp, frailly, like a trapped little bird. "What is it? Do you need anything?"

He was calmed a little by the laugh he received in return. Of all the other things that had changed, Arthur's laugh had stayed the same.

"It's going to sound stupid."

Eames rolled his eyes in the dark with a familiar sense of fond exasperation before rolling onto his side. He could still make out the outline of Arthur's body, despite how dark it was, pressed so close to his own.

He had no qualms about pretending it was too dark to see any of the medical equipment that was close at hand as well, however.

"Just say it, you know I'm not going to judge you." He moved in closer so that his head wound up pressed against Arthur's own. Time had dulled the initial shock that had once come with feeling bare skin there instead of hair. "You know I'll just stay up all night fretting if you don't."

Arthur's voice was still warm with amusement as he spoke. "Just don't laugh, alright?" There was a brief pause and then his voice was dropping down to a near whisper. "I don't like the way the house creaks."

Eames couldn't help it, he really couldn't. "Do you think the monsters are coming, my dear?" He wasn't the least bit surprised by the foot that jerked out to kick him almost immediately after.

"I know it sounds silly," Arthur said, "but I really don't like it. It's too damn loud and I can't sleep through it."

"Ah." That made a little more sense then. "Do you want me to fetch the earplugs then?"

"No." Arthur's voice was thick with sleep. "They make my ears feel all funny."

"Then what do you want me to do, darling?" Eames asked. "I'm afraid I'm quite at a lost."

Arthur wiggled his body downwards until he was at the proper position to nuzzle into Eames' chest. "I want you to sing."

The corners of Eames' mouth quirked in an attempted smile at that. "And what song shall I sing?"

Arthur grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Too many questions," into Eames' chest.

That won a true laugh out of Eames, at least. "Alright, alright, your wish is my command." He rubbed his free hand up and down Arthur's back as he tried to come up with a song. He kept up with the motion once he had one in mind too.

"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep my little baby.

When you wake you shall have

All the pretty little horses.

Black and bays, dapples, grays,

All the pretty little horses.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep my little baby.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep my little baby.

When you wake you shall have

All the pretty little horses."

It was a lullaby, of course, more appropriate to be sung to a small child than a grown man. That didn't stop it from being soothing, however, at least to Eames. It was the song that his own mum had dubbed as his, after all, having sung it to him from when he was only a baby.

No matter what the song was it seemed to have served its intended purpose, anyway. Arthur had relaxed against him, eyes closed and breathing coming slow and steady. It was enough to cause the worried knot that had formed in Eames' stomach to ease a little.

It only took a minute for him to start to doze off himself to the rhythmic sound of Arthur's breathing, but then that sound was replaced by the man's voice.

"Don't be afraid, Eames."

Eames didn't open his eyes as he spoke; was afraid of what he'd give away if he did. "Whoever said I was afraid?"

"I don't need to hear you say it," Arthur said. "I already know you well enough to know it." And damn him, he did. "But I don't want you to be afraid because I'm not."

Eames' eyes did open at that, although it was a mostly involuntary response. "How can you not be afraid?" The words tumbled lose from them before he could stop them and he winced once they were free. "I'm sorry, darling, that was tactless."

"No, no, I knew you wouldn't understand, not at first." Arthur brought his eyes up to stare directly into Eames' own, even in the dark. "I'm not afraid because I know that if there's an afterlife you'll find me in it."

Eames couldn't stop his voice from sounding strangled when he spoke. "And what if there isn't an afterlife?"

"There is." If the moment wasn't so serious then Eames would have laughed at the return of that firm, no nonsense term that had use to permeate Arthur's voice whenever they were on a job together. "And I'm going to wait right there for you." His free hand curled into the thin fabric of the short shelved shirt Eames wore to bed. "It's either that or I'll just turn into a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life."

Eames did laugh then, although it was hiccupy and thick with the onset of tears. "You'll drive me mad, darling."

"At least you won't forget me," Arthur replied.

"As if that could ever happen," Eames shot back. "You've taken up root in my heart, my darling boy, there's no getting you out now."

"But don't you see?" Arthur wiped away the tears that were starting to gather in Eames' eyes before leaning up to press their mouths. "That's why we're going to be together always."


End file.
